


Glow

by myothermountisaqunari



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Jealousy, myothermountisaqunari, platonic, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:32:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3746068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myothermountisaqunari/pseuds/myothermountisaqunari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Firelight is particularly flattering, even when you're a bit jealous.<br/>Intentionally ambiguous gender/romantic status. Could be platonic or romantic, male or female, any race.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glow

The Inquisitor’s always thought the firelight brought out the best in the dwarf. The way the soft red light flickered along his jawline, accentuating the small happy lines near the corners of that delectable mouth, his lips moving ever so slightly as he reread to himself whatever stroke of genius he’d just penned. Light refracted so warmly in those dark eyes, making them even deeper and more inviting, were that even possible which was quite frankly hard to believe.

Craning their neck discreetly so as not to invoke Josephine and the dreary nobles she’d come to parade in front of the Inquisitor this time, the enamored leader strained to hear that deep, rumbling, and ever so slightly raspy chuckle that could only mean the dwarf was rather pleased with something. It was a glorious sound, one that they didn’t hear often enough now that Hawke was gone, but clearly not forgotten, as the Inquisitor spied the book Varric was making notes in the margins to.

The Tale of the Champion.

It wasn’t the Inquisitors place to pry, even in the life of someone they held so dear, but it crossed the Herald’s mind (rather than which Orlesian petit four was in style this coming season, a topic they could not believe these over inflated wisps of sentient silk and organza actually had an opinion on) that perhaps dwelling on the past alone wasn’t the best way to get over the loss of it.

“Certainly didn’t work out with the crossbow bitch,” the Inquisitor huffed under their breath, garnering a cursory glance from Josephine but thankfully avoiding notice of the other nobles.

It wasn’t that the Inquisitor thought Varric didn’t make good choices. He did. Most of the time actually. He just had a nasty habit of holding onto things out of sentimentality, whether it was healthy for him to do so or not. Clearly the twang of longing and care for the dwarfs well-being was out of altruistic concern for a dear friend rather than the harsh sting of jealousy that his attentions were almost constantly directed towards others.

Finally and after much bowing and cordial goodbyes, the Inquisitor was allowed to take leave of the newest visitors to Skyhold, and retreated to the fireplace and its resident storyteller. The dwarf in question only peeked up over the rim of his reading glasses with a small smile, the expression lingering as his gaze returned to the book he was holding.

“Anything I can do for you, your Inquisitorialness?” he chuckled, making it evident he’d noticed the Inquisitor peering over at him during that obnoxiously long detour with Josephine. Leaning back and propping their feet up on the nearest footstool the Inquisitor crossed their arms and huffed.

“You could’ve saved me from that, yanno. ‘Oh hey, Ambassador, I need the Inquisitor for a second, we have an unresolved situation in the Dales to discuss the travel arrangements for seeing as how not everyone in the party had mounts last time’ or some drivel like that. Instead I find you mooning over your boyfriend in the form of your own book, Varric, that’s a new level of vanity even for you,” was the grunted and oh-so-petulant reply. A low sigh came from the dwarf, and he marked his place in the book with his quill, closing it and leaning forward in his seat, clasping those sturdy, comforting hands in his lap.

“Who kicked your mabari puppy today, Herald? It’s not like you to bite so hard, even when you’ve been dealing with Orleasian dignitaries all day. You can tell me anything, you know, I’ve always been here when you needed me before,” he questioned, the concern in his voice warm and deeply present, causing the petulant glare into the fire on the Inquistors face to fall ever so slightly, their eyes peeking over at him in apology.

Running a hand through their hair, the Inquisitor sighed. What was it Bull always said? When you find a problem you gotta tackle it with the horns? Or was it grab it by them? Either way his copious amount of puns obscured the point, but the Inquisitor needed to heed the advice of tackling the problem with Varric head on anyways.

“We need to talk about Hawke. He’s not dead Varric, we came home ok, he just had to leave and meet up with –” the Inquisitor started, leaning forward themselves and looking rather like the kicked mabari Varric had referred to earlier.

“I know, I know. And so the noble hero of Kirkwall had to go save more helpless bystanders asses with his paramour in tow while we take care of the apocalypse. But we COULD have lost him for good, we could have lost YOU for good for that matter…..it just…..helps, sometimes….like I’m listening to him cracking jokes at the tavern, or thinking he’s gonna die because he got stung by a bee,” he answered somberly, his mood lifting as he chuckled at Hawke’s over dramatic antics, those warm dark eyes lifting to meet the Inquisitors ever so slightly nervous pair. “I’m always wondering when I’m gonna lose the people I care about most. When’s that last little bit of hope gonna die out. It’s hard being everyone’s port in the storm, it’s just…..hard, losing having one of mine nearby all the time.”

The Inquisitor, looking back on the exchange, would tell anyone who’d been curious enough to care that the next words out of their mouth had been completely involuntary, like word vomit that they’d desperately wished they could shove back in their mouth the moment they’d said them.

“I’m here.”

It had been soft, and immediate, and with the faintest hint of pleading clinging to the edges of the words. Had you asked Cassandra, whom was absolutely not in the vicinity and absolutely did not immediately turn right around the corner upon hearing such a thing, the Seeker would have grunted at you in disgust and then begrudgingly divulged that the Inquisitor had sounded as if they were trying to tell the dwarf ‘I love you too, could you ever love me back?’ and then uncharacteristically deny the entire thing ever happening. 

The smile that bloomed on Varrics face was just as immediate, with a relief of some unknown tension spilling out of it in a great bellowing laugh as he threw his head back for a moment, only to stare rather intently back at the Inquisitor, a suspiciously new level of comradarie’ and understanding in that sly face.

“You always are, aren’t you.”

As the firelight danced across their features, lighting up the visible hope and excitement on the Inquisitors face, their posture straightening like an excited child, smile radiating warmth and care in a way that made him feel as if perhaps he wasn’t as far away from feeling home as he thought….

Varric decided firelight brought out the best in the Inquisitor too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for viewing my first work on AO3, and my first non-oc specific Dragon Age work!  
> If ya'll have any comments on what to tweak, or what your opinions were, let me know so I can work on things and keep getting better!


End file.
